Life vs Love
by Javawolf
Summary: Life vs Love and the Argument for the Elimination of Artificial Light. Sam is faced with a cold reality when he discovers that his attempts at saving his brother's life were in vain, and something darker than Evil has taken claim on the elder Winchester.


Life _vs._ Love, _and the_ Argument _for the_ Elimination _of_ Artificial Light

By Javawolf

* * *

**Disclaimer:** If only they were mine, but alas. I have no such luck.

**Rating:** M -- You have been warned.

**Feedback:** Oh please? I'd be flattered.

**Summary:** Sam is faced with a harsh and cold reality when he discovers that all of his attempts at saving his brother's life were in vain, for something darker than Evil has taken claim on the elder Winchester. Wincest and blatantly so.

**Author's Note:** My first Wincest fiction. -- (Monty Python, "Yay..." goes here.) Go me. Mostly by way of this author's note I want to apologize to my readers for my sudden disappearance, and list my many excuses. Not one of them is any good, but here 'goes.

**1.)** Big bru-ha-ha with the college application/transfer process has kept me incredibly busy.

**2.)** Classes at the college I am currently attending have taken up a large chunk of my schedule and eaten it alive. I am a busy woman.

**3.)** Co-writer Raven has been poking me to finish the last few chapters of Juvenile, but to no avail. Raven attended a funeral and I came down with a nasty virus. No writing was done.

**4.)** I met a young man. His name is Leath. And he is very distracting. No writing is _getting_ done.

**5.)** felt it necessary to delete the best fiction of my "career," Lupine, and I was demolished.

**6.)** These past few months have been gloriously torturing for me, as I have never felt so inspired in my lifetime. You have no idea just how many fictions I have brewing as well as poems, essays for my writing group meet, and even the plot for a full-length independent film for my film class. What generally happens when one tries to do all that at once? Exactly. Absolutely _nothing_.

My apologies. Meanwhile, this little story is dedicated to all those who are thoroughly pissed off at me. I take my leave.

* * *

The kiss was cold.

Not warm and soft the way Sam had always imagined it would be. Dean had those full, dark lips, what was he to expect from those lips but the perfect kiss? Instead Sam received a hard jolt back to reality and Dean pulled harshly away, turning to face away from him and toward the single window of the motel room. The glaring orange light from the street light outside the window deepened the shadows over his face, until he slid out of the light completely and the darkness swallowed him.

Sam's breaths still came in ragged gasps as he hesitantly picked his shirt up from the floor and pulled it over his head.

"Dean?" No answer was given but a soft sigh. Sam could almost see his brother's dark silhouette as Dean pulled his hoodie sweater back on. It took a moment, but then Sam began to panic. Shit, he'd read the emotions wrong – Dean didn't feel for him that way. He'd come on too strong, he must have. And they'd only just gotten each other back.

"Dean, I'm – " What does one say in this situation? Sam shook his head violently and pulled at his hair. God, what had he done? He'd tried to fuck his brother...

Holy God, he'd tried to fuck his brother...

"I'm sorry, Dean – I'm so sorry."

"No." The abrupt response. Dean's voice was low and quiet, sad. Sam was almost grateful that he couldn't see Dean's face. "It's okay."

The younger choked on the air he breathed. "No! No, it's not, I don't know what..."

"Let's just forget it okay?" Dean, who had been slumped on the bed, rose now and faced his brother. His features didn't reflect the hurt Sam could hear in his pained voice. Dean looked furious.

The words hit Sam like a slap in the face and he recoiled, backing away and disappearing into the darkness. Now it was Dean who stood alone in the spot light.

"F-forget it...?" Sam repeated coldly. "Wait, this – this is crap, man. You can't tell me you don't... I know."

Dean squinted in the harsh light, searching for his little brother's lanky form in the surrounding blackness. "Sam." He sighed, his brow relaxing from its knot as he looked to the ground in surrender. "I can't."

"You think I'm disgusting." Sam spat. As this, Dean's head jerked back up – his features etched in orange and black, the strange contrast making him look even more fearsome.

"You're the one who ran away!" He bellowed angrily. Sam faltered and opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off. "You're the one who wanted to be normal! You're the one who _ditched_ my ass, and now you want me to fuck you?"

Sam furiously blinked away the tears that welled in his eyes, but a single tear escaped and slowly slid down his cheek. However it didn't fall, for Dean was across the room and wiping the sad tear away in an instant. A moment later, his mouth was pressed tightly to Sam's, his hands still holding Sam's face to him, cradling him. Sam was beginning to feel the butterflies in his stomach again as the flames were rekindled, but then the fire was extinguished when their kiss froze a second time.

Why was Dean's passion so cold? So icy that it almost hurt to touch him...

This time, it was Sam who pulled away and, not unexpectedly, Dean seemed sadly relieved.

"Don't play games with me." Sam ground out. To his surprise Dean chuckled softly, though the sound was oddly haunting rather than cheerful.

"Ready or not..." With this murmur, he simply turned and walked away, fading back into the dark of the motel room. Sam heard the springs groaning under Dean's weight as the elder fell heavily onto his bed. "You better hide Sam. Hide somewhere I can't find you."

Sam breathed heavily, his brow furrowed. "You're creeping me out, man."

Silence at first, and then, "... Sorry."

Sam pondered his reply for a short moment, knowing how ridiculously soapy it was going to sound, but in the end decided on risking a chick-flick moment.

"Do you love me?" He asked, his voice strangely calm and curious. The question came surprisingly easily to him. The answer, however, was hesitant.

"Sure." A grunt.

"I mean... well you know what I mean."

A loud sigh, and what Sam might've thought was a sniffle – if he hadn't known better of course. "Sammy, even if I did... I can't."

"What?" Sam asked in an incredulous tone of voice. He wanted to laugh out loud at his big brother. "What are you talking about?" He scoffed, trying to decide whether to be amused or angry. "You a eunuch or something?"

At this, Dean merely turned away from his brother and buried his face into his pillow. It was at that moment that reality struck Sam like a hard blow to the gut, and he nearly doubled over in pain. Both physical and emotional.

"Oh my God..." He breathed, silently edging closer to his big brother's bed.

"Sam..." Dean warned him. "Don't."

"You're... You have –"

"Yeah, okay?" The elder Winchester suddenly snapped at him. "I can't do it, I won't risk it."

Sam was at a complete loss. "How long have you known?" He asked softly, in just above a whisper. Dean closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"Almost four years." He sighed. He clutched the knife under his pillow for security and stability, but found it did little to comfort him. Sam reacted the way that Dean had expected he would. He was furious.

"Four years?" Sam shouted angrily. "Four fucking years, and you didn't tell me? Did you tell Dad?"

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes with a scowl. "Hey Dad, yeah, oh! By the way, I've been HIV positive for a few years now, so if I up and die on you–"

"Don't talk like that!" Sam interrupted. "You're not going to die, we're going to get you help." He paused, and while Dean wanted to talk some sense into his little brother, he could think of nothing to say. After a moment, Sam sat down on the bed and rubbed his hands up and down Dean's back. He felt the tense muscle under his finger tips, the rippling strength the elder hunter possessed. Sam longed for that strength. As it was, he was simply terrified.

"Four years, Dean..." He sighed sadly. "That's a long time."

Dean nodded slowly, closing his eyes and shifting his shoulder blades, relaxing into the massage. He didn't speak.

"Chances are... " Sam grimaced, it almost physically hurt to admit the truth. "It's probably advanced by now."

Again, Dean nodded, this time clearing his throat loudly and taking a deep, steadying breath. "I know." He whispered. "AIDS."

A single word. More accurately, a jumble of meaningless letters joined together to form a word. A word that made little sense, but all the same struck fear in all those who heard it. AIDS.

Dean had AIDS.

"Sam..." The elder croaked hopelessly. The sound caught in his throat and remained lodged there, ending only in a weak chuckle. "Look man, it's no big deal--"

Seething with hate toward his brother, Sam rose from the bed in a flash. The instant his hands left Dean's back and the contact was lost, as was Sam. The darkness swallowed him again and he felt alone. He could almost hear Dean thinking, "Selfish. Selfish Bastard."

"You always say that!" He screamed suddenly, prompting an uncomfortable silence from the bed. "Nothing will ever be a big deal, I'm bleeding out my eyes and everything's just peachy because everything's always fine with you!"

"Sam--"

"Shut! Up!" Sam was shaking with fury now, and Dean merely cowered meekly on the bed beneath him. Sam was crying now. When was the last time Dean had been forced to watch Sam cry? He'd always thought they'd had an agreement. Don't ask, don't tell. Why would Sam break that? A moment passed, and Sam wiped his wet eyelashes on his sleeve before choking out,

"What is it with you?" Dean blinked dumbly in response. "You have some sort of death-wish. Every time I turn around Dean, you're trying to get yourself killed."

"You think I like this?" Dean sighed. He didn't raise his voice, but felt as though he should have. Sam shook his head violently.

"No, I think you love it. You just won't be happy until you've saved the world. Kill 'em all or die trying, right?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"You're not a super hero, Dean!" Sam sobbed. The elder cringed at the unwelcome sound, but more followed just for spite. "You can't... f-fucking... fight if you're t-t-toe-tagged! What about me?" Dean bowed his head. "You were just going to wait and see how long you'd last? See if I noticed a-a-a cough here, a little blood on a... on a handkerchief, a tired limp in your step?" Sam suddenly lost it and sank to the floor in tears. "Y-you were... j-j-just going to ...leave m-me here! All alone!"

"No, Sam..." Dean soothed. He was standing now, and in an instant he was crouched by his baby brother's racking body. Sam was completely doubled over with heart-wrenching sobs. The guilt was so strong that Dean had to fight for air. "That's why... I have to find Dad. Sammy, I'm... I'm trying to make everything alright for you. You and Dad."

Sam looked up, peeking through his tear-soaked fingers at his brother's dark form. "That's what this has all been about?" He whispered. Dean couldn't tell if he was shocked, angry, completely and emotionally obliterated, or all of the above. Sam sniffled pathetically. "_This_ is why you always made us stop? Stop the search and help people... isn't it?" Dean sighed softly and shook his head.

"Might as well butter up the Big Guy while I can." He shrugged. "I hear He takes bribes. In the form of happy little families not being eviscerated. If I want in those Pearly Gates I damn well better kiss His ass."

"You astound me." Sam said dryly and with poison in his words. Dean, unable to see the angry expression on Sam's face, continued innocently.

"I try."

The anger melted back into hot tears and Sam shook with sobs. Dean cradled him the way he used to when they were younger, but it did little to calm the younger down. Dean cooed and whispered comforting murmurs of, "Hush, it's alright," and "Don't cry Sammy, I'm here," and "I love you, kiddo." All these words hollow and meaningless, only succeeding in provoking more tears. Finally, Dean gave up, grabbed his little brother around the shoulders and shook violently.

"Now, you shut up and listen to me, damn it!" He hissed. Sam blinked away the tears and peered up at his brother's dark form against the glass of the orange-lit window. "You're gonna get a hold of yourself, you're gonna calm the hell down and you're gonna listen."

Sam's lip trembled, but he nodded silently. Dean's gaze was hard, but Sam could only see his silhouette and nothing else. Dean was only a shadow in the dark, cold, empty room. After a moment spent breathing deeply, Dean spoke again.

"Good, Sammy. Hey look -- it's like this. Don't worry about... stuff okay? I'm sick, yeah, but... but only a little. I'm okay Sammy, at least for a while longer." He sighed. "Don't think about tomorrow or the day after or any fucking day after today, _right _the hell_ now_ cause Sam, I'm here right now, okay? Right now. I'm here."

There was an awkward moment of silence, and an instant later Sam found himself standing and walking the short distance to the bed. He sat down, reached to the side table and flicked on the lamp. He was tired of living in the dark. Sam turned just in time to catch Dean furiously wiping away the tears that the darkness before had kept hidden. The cruel, harsh lamp-light threatened to tear down his calm and sturdy hero facade, but Sam didn't care.

The young hunter had always known his brother faced Death every day and laughed. Dean flipped Death the finger and blew a loud raspberry - this Sam knew. What he'd never understood before was why Dean had such a hang-up with Death? Why Death pissed him off so thoroughly?

It was because Death had Dean in chains, and above all else Dean hated not being the one in control. Every day the man dragged those heavy iron chains behind him and he did it with a wry smile, because that was just one more day he'd looked Death in the face and said, "Fuck. You."

Dean was going to die. And by God, Sam was going with him.

He was across the room in an instant, dropped to his knees on the floor and caressing Dean's face as he explored the mysteries of that perfect mouth. Dean gave no resistance but merely let himself be kissed, rather than return the kiss. Sam felt the familiar cold begin to force it's way between them and he broke the kiss only long enough to slap his brother lightly across the cheek.

"Stop that." He breathed softly as he forced his right hand down his brother's jeans, his left hand softly cradling Dean's face. "Stop thinking, you're ruining it."

Dean's eyelids fluttered and he bit his lip. "Sammy..." He groaned. "This isn't a good idea."

Sam replied by catching his brother's mouth again and tonguing into him forcefully. He knew Dean liked to be handled roughly. "You're a dumb lummox, you know that?" He sighed after Dean had melted to the floor. He now dominantly straddled the elder, who lay on his back like a sacrificial lamb and licked his lips eagerly. Sam had always loved Dean all the more for that little habit, he _always_ licked his lips.

"Why... why am I a dumb lummox?" Dean gasped when his hoodie was pulled over his head and Sam's finger tips made circles on his bare chest. Sam bent down and drew lines over Dean's stomach with his tongue while Dean's chest rose and fell heavily. "That tickles..." He sighed, cheeks flushed. Sam ignored him, but smiled all the same.

"You're a dumb lummox because you won't let me have sex with you."

Dean chuckled and bucked lightly when Sam unzipped his jeans. "Sammy..." He moaned. "You... you know why we can't. Oh God..." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back with a soft hiss. "This is bad, Sammy." He gasped. "You're tearing me down, man..."

Sam lifted his head back up and spit absently before grinning mischievously at his big brother. "That _was_ my intention." Dean sighed softly, waiting. A moment passed and he was bare and vulnerable in the cold, February air. But then the sweet warmth of Sam's mouth enveloped him and he found himself starved for air.

"Oh G... Oh God! S-s-sammy!" Dean jerked lightly, trying to escape his own desire. "Sammy, don't... this is bad..."

Sam stopped the pleasurable torture for just a moment, and Dean let his previously arched back fall heavily back to the floor. Sam spit again and sighed.

"Dean." He whined. "With all the stuff we do every day, man... You're always bleeding all over the fucking place, all over me." He paused, letting the truth sink in to Dean's mind. "We're both fucked, man. We might as well be the ones doing the fucking."

Dean tried to sit up, but Sam shoved him into the carpet and ravaged his mouth. When the kiss was broken, Dean found himself choking on emotion. Twenty years' worth of unwanted feeling washed over him mercilessly. Anger, sadness, confusion, fury, love, depression, passion, longing, inferiority, misplacement, understanding, overwhelming empathy, uncertainty, caring, desire... above all else, desire.

He stood up and walked the distance back to the bed. Sam made to follow, but Dean lifted a hand in the air to stop him.

"No, Sam." He grinned. "Stay there."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dean grinned even wider, if possible. "Because I want to fuck you right there. Right into the floor."

Sam smiled and lay back down on the mildew-coated carpet. "What are you doing over there then?" He asked.

A wink. "I'm turning of that damn light."

* * *

Reviews appreciated. Thank you. 


End file.
